


Two Secrets

by The_German_Grim_Reaper



Series: Dogs & Butterflies [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Daemons, Episode: s01e06 Entrée, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, I guess? several people know at this point but oh well, M/M, Miriam Lass (mentioned) - Freeform, Season/Series 01, Secret Relationship, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, unsettled daemons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_German_Grim_Reaper/pseuds/The_German_Grim_Reaper
Summary: Hannibal looks delightfully offended.  Bella seems both startled and amused by Will’s lack of manners, although Jack looks mostly resigned.  “I beg your pardon, Will?” Hannibal asks, carefully concealing his mirth behind an excellently-constructed mask.  Will can see right through it, but then, he’s always been able to get inside Hannibal’s head.“You heard me,” he responds with a shrug, taking a sip of wine.or:Will Graham has two secrets.  One: he has a boyfriend.  Two: his boyfriend is a cannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Dogs & Butterflies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173734
Comments: 17
Kudos: 205





	Two Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I have no idea what this is, but here you go. The end is a bit wonky but I did my best

Will stares down at the dead body, scowling at her mutilated form. This is not a Ripper kill, he’d known that coming in, but clearly it’s more complicated than he was anticipating. Beside him, Max shudders as she shifts from form to form without pause.

Will screws his eyes shut and focuses on his breathing. _Calm down_ , he tells himself. _This is not who you are_. It takes a few more seconds and several violent transformations, but when he opens his eyes Max is back to her usual self.

“Jack,” he calls, doing his best not to look at the nurse’s body for fear he’ll slip back into that tormented mind. He kneels down and wraps his arms around Max, taking comfort in her presence.

Jack opens the door and steps inside. “What do you see?”

Will shakes his head, fighting against the roiling nausea in his stomach. “It’s not about what I _see_ ,” he corrects. “It’s about what Gideon _feels_. What’s his daemon?”

Jack frowns. He’s one of the few people who actually knows about Max’s shifting. “Shouldn’t you be telling me that?”

“My guess is he’s not settled,” Will tells him honestly. “Or rather, he was settled, and whatever the hell Chilton did to his head managed to _un_ settle him. Max couldn’t stop switching. She was a coyote for the longest, but there were at least half a dozen other animals thrown in there as well, none of them for long enough that I could get a good look.”

Jack curses under his breath. “The Ripper with an unstable daemon, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit the profile.”

“You know I don’t believe in daemon profiling, Jack, but in this case I think you’re right. The Ripper is somebody who knows himself well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you said his daemon had settled _early_ , but not this. My guess? Chilton wanted the fame that comes from having caught the Ripper, so he made Gideon think he _was_ the Ripper, and now Gideon’s daemon is having an identity crisis.”

“As far as I know his daemon is a coyote, but I haven’t been to see him yet. I’ll tell the other agents to keep an eye out for it shifting. Any other insights?”

“He’s not the Ripper,” Will assures him. Even if he didn’t already know who the real Ripper was, he would know that. “Even without the shifting, I could have told you that. Killing the nurse was a whim more than anything, it wasn’t planned out. And the Ripper would never recreate a kill.” Well. Not one of his _own_ kills, anyway. He does have a semi-successful side career as the Copycat Killer, but Will isn’t about to tell Jack that.

Jack nods. He looks like he believes Will, which is good, but it won’t be enough to get Chilton on any sort of charges. Previously-settled daemons shifting is an almost unheard-of phenomena. It’s been suggested that it can happen after severe trauma, but that’s never been conclusively proven, and even then there’s no real way to link it to Chilton. It would never hold up in court.

“Take a few minutes,” Jack advises him. “I’ll let Alana interview him first, give you some time to calm down.”

Will wants to be angry, but he knows he needs it. If he sees Chilton or Gideon now, he’ll break down. He’d come to work today expecting to be angry at this imposter for daring to make a mockery of the Ripper, but instead he was indignant on Gideon’s behalf. Sure, he’d killed his family and was locked up for a good reason, but he was so _confused_. This whole circus certainly hadn’t been Gideon’s idea- he was just as caught up in it as the rest of them.

“I’ll do that,” he tells Jack. “Thanks.”

He’s going to have a _lot_ to tell Hannibal.

  
  


***

“What effect were you hoping to have by killing Elizabeth Shell?”

Gideon just shrugs. “The effect I was hoping for was her death. Mission accomplished.”

Will considers him for a long moment, then directs his gaze to the scraggly-looking coyote[1] laying a few feet away from him. Her ankles are cuffed to a leg of his bed and Will can’t help but wonder how much that must have hurt. “Hello, Salome,” he greets her. Her name had been in the file that Will perused in the minutes before his interview. “Or would you prefer another name?”

The coyote is still for a long moment before she raises her head, as though she’s not sure whether she’s the one being addressed. “No one’s spoken to me in a long time,” she says hoarsely.

Will frowns. “Not even Gideon?”

She huffs. “He doesn’t count. Are you here to take us away?”

She sounds so hopeful that it almost breaks his heart for Will to deny her. “No, that’s not what I’m here for,” he tells her gently. He’s supposed to be interviewing Gideon, but he hasn’t been very forthcoming so far, and he has a feeling Salome will be more helpful. “I’m here to ask about the nurse that Gideon killed.”

“She was cruel,” Salome replies. Gideon is watching their conversation with fascination in his gaze; clearly, he’s not used to anyone ignoring him in favor of his daemon, although he seems more curious than upset.

“Cruel?” Will repeats.

“She would kick me,” the coyote explains, shrinking in on herself as she does so. “They’re not- I don’t think you’re _allowed_ to, but Chilton doesn’t care, and if anyone asked she would always tell them I was threatening her. I only bit her _once_.”

It’s at this moment that something about her changes. One moment she’s a frightened and abused coyote doing her best to hide, and the next she’s a tufty-eared red squirrel. She doesn’t fit in the cuffs anymore, naturally, and there’s a moment of stunned silence before she races up the bedframe and fits herself into Gideon’s shadow.

Gideon is watching her, a sort of amused curiosity the most prevalent emotion on his face. “Huh,” he says, shaking his head and then looking over to Will. “I don’t think she’s done a squirrel before.”

Will cocks his head. “When did your daemon start shifting, Doctor Gideon?”

“ _Doctor_ ,” Gideon repeats with a small, wistful smile. “Haven’t heard _that_ in a while, I’ll tell you.”

Will is silent, waiting for him to speak.

Salome changes into some sort of large, hairy moth. It’s not the same as Hannibal’s butterfly, of course, but it’s close enough that he feels a spike of worry. If Chilton had a more complete understanding of the Ripper, would he have been able to coax Gideon’s daemon into looking like Noré? Then he decides he’s being ridiculous. A moth is not the same as a butterfly, and besides, the moth is just one of _many_ shapes Salome has apparently taken on recently.

"She can fit through the bars like this," Gideon points out. His tone is so obviously meant to be threatening, and yet he's still just a pale imitation of the real Ripper's power. "Wouldn't be hard to snatch the keys from a passing guard. You'd best keep your doors locked, Mister Graham."

Will resists the urge to roll his eyes. "And how would she go about doing that? She can get _out_ , sure, but it'd take opposable thumbs to get the key off a guard without them noticing. If they notice, you get tased, game over. So unless she can turn, _at will_ , into some sort of monkey or ape, I'm fairly certain that's an empty threat."

"Who says she can't turn into a monkey?" Gideon challenges.

"Neither of you have _any_ control over her shifting at the moment. It won't do you much good if she shifts _in_ side your cell, and she can't exactly hang around on the other side of the bars without someone noticing and upping your security." A pause, and then, "Also, if you actually thought you had a chance in hell of escaping, you wouldn't be telling me your plan."

Gideon glowers at him, but does not argue.

Will turns his attention back to Salome. "Your shifting, Salome? When did it start up again?"

She sighs, still in moth form. “Two or three months ago. Happens more and more often as time goes on.”

Will nods. That fits with the timeline- Gideon would have been in Chilton’s care for a long time before that, more than enough time for the psychic driving to take hold. He looks at Gideon. “Did Doctor Chilton ever talk with you about the Chesapeake Ripper case? Share any information with you, discuss details of the crimes, anything like that?”

Gideon doesn’t reply, too busy watching his daemon as she shifts back into her natural form. He seems to have elected to ignore Will completely. Will watches for a moment longer before turning and leaving the cell block. He has all the information he needs.

  
  


***

“It’s ridiculous,” Will says, laying on the couch with his head in Hannibal’s lap. Hannibal is dutifully toying with his curls with one hand. His other hand is stroking Max’s head, sending that familiar feeling of warmth and contentment through Will’s entire being. Across the room from them is a crackling fire, only adding to the cozy feel of the moment.

“What is?” Hannibal asks him, pursing his lips as he comes across a particularly tangled lock of hair.

“This whole case. I mean, Chilton _had_ to know we wouldn’t believe him.”

“The timeline of the Ripper’s silence does match up with the date of Gideon’s arrest. To someone who doesn’t know, it would appear to make sense.”

Will rolls his eyes, looking up at his partner’s face. “There was no _art_ in how Gideon killed his family. And even if Chilton thought he could make it convincing, he’s got cameras in the cells. He had to have seen that Gideon’s daemon was unstable, but he decided to call us anyway.”

“If, as she implied during your interview, Salome’s shifting began very infrequently, then I’m hardly surprised. Perhaps he simply thought that the odds of her shifting in front of you was so unlikely that it was worth the risk. He wouldn’t have known that Max could echo her shifts- you _have_ been fairly successful at keeping her ability under wraps.”

“I shifted in front of everyone at the Hobbs house,” Max points out. “I can’t believe nobody noticed.”

“If they did, they probably figured no one would believe them. Even Freddie Lounds might have difficulty believing such a tip.”

Will has to agree with him there. Still, he has a feeling the world will be finding out about Max’s particular ‘talent’ sooner rather than later. It was one thing for her to shift when he was in his office looking over crime scene photos in private, but now that he’s visiting crime scenes more and more often, keeping the secret is becoming that much more difficult.

“They won’t arrest Chilton,” he complains, bringing them back to the original subject. “It’s easy enough to see that Gideon isn’t in his right mind, but it’s much harder to prove that Chilton’s the one who planted those thoughts. An unstable daemon might convince the public, but it means next to nothing in a court of law.”

“It’s better that he not be arrested,” Hannibal tells him. Will frowns, sitting up, and he doesn’t miss Hannibal’s miniscule pout at the movement.

“Why?”

“It will make things more convenient when I decide to go after him. Or perhaps I can arrange for Gideon to escape and influence _him_ to go after him. Either way, it will be much easier if Chilton isn’t behind bars.”

Well, Will can’t exactly argue with that. It’s been several months since Minnesota, and although he’d been rather horrified by Hannibal’s extracurriculars at the time, he’s grown to appreciate the artistry of it. A thought occurs to him

“Do you take Noré with you?” he questions. “When you do it.”

Hannibal doesn’t even pretend not to know what he means. “Yes,” he admits, reaching out and pulling Will closer so that he’s pressed against Hannibal’s side. Will smiles and snuggles into the warmth. “I do. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Will lies, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“ _Will,_ ” Hannibal warns. There’s nothing genuinely threatening about it, but Will answers anyway.

“I just had this really funny mental image,” he begins, doing his best to reign in his laughter, “of you killing somebody with, uh, with a butterfly in your hair.”

Hannibal mock-scowls at him. “Must you test me in this way?”

“Yes,” Will grins, unrepentant.

“I am the most feared serial killer in all of North America-”

“Who walks around with a butterfly on his shoulder,” Will cuts him off.

(He knows all about Hannibal’s tragic backstory, of course, and the _reason_ his daemon is a butterfly. He would never dream of making fun of him for _that_ , but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy this mental image a little bit longer.)

“A _beautiful_ and _elegant_ butterfly,” Hannibal retorts. Noré, as if demonstrating her agreement, hops down onto Will’s pant leg and flexes her wings to show off the pretty colors. Orange, black, and white markings shimmer in the glow of the fire.

“Well, she is that,” Will agrees, gently stroking one finger down Noré’s soft-furred body. He’s less nervous about accidentally brushing her wings, now, than he had been when they’d first learned they could touch. Hannibal holds Will even closer at the sensation and Will is quite certain that if he were a cat he’d be purring. He’s always been better at hiding just how loved this sensation makes him feel, but Will knows he feels it no less strongly.

“Would you like to come with me on my next hunt?” Hannibal asks him. The question is not unexpected, but it still gives Will pause.

“You must be planning one soon,” he guesses instead of answering.

Hannibal shakes his head. “Not for a few weeks yet. As easy as it would be to counter Gideon’s claims with a fresh display, I thought I’d do it in a more personal manner.”

“Personal?” Will raises an eyebrow, looking up at his partner in confusion.

“Well,” Hannibal says. “I was thinking Crawford might appreciate a visit from an old friend.”

Will blinks. An old friend? Unless… no, but he couldn’t have… 

“Hannibal,” he says rather than asks, “please tell me you don’t have Miriam Lass’s body hidden away somewhere in the basement.”

“Alright, then,” Hannibal tells him, smiling. “I won't tell you that.”

Will closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and wills himself not to strangle him.

  
  


***

Will doesn’t see Hannibal for a few days after that. It’s not that they’re fighting; it’s simply that both of them have full-time jobs and, in addition to that, Will has six dogs at home to look after. He suspects Hannibal would let him bring them over if he asked, but he doesn’t see the need to do so just yet.

On the third day, Hannibal calls him just after lunchtime. “Would you be willing to join me for dinner tonight?” Hannibal asks him politely. “Jack and Bella will be coming over and I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

Will pretends to consider it. “Oh, I don’t know, Doctor Lecter… that’s awfully short notice, what if I already have plans?”

He can hear the amusement in Hannibal’s voice as he speaks. “Well, I suppose if you’re too busy, I’ll just have to eat all this shrimp etouffee all by myself.”

Will groans. Creole food is one of his greatest weaknesses and Hannibal knows it. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll be there. Six-thirty like usual?”

“Eight,” Hannibal corrects. Will raises his eyebrows, surprised, but agrees. As soon as he hangs up the phone, however, he realizes that Beverly is standing right behind him, daemon[2] on her shoulder.

“Dinner with your psychiatrist?” she questions, sounding rather amused. “You know he just wants to get in your pants, right?” There’s no judgement in her tone, only a gentle teasing.

Will can’t stop the blush from rising in his cheeks. Hannibal isn’t his psychiatrist, and he’s certainly not motivated only by sexual attraction, but he isn’t quite sure how to explain these things without giving away their entire relationship. “Not my psychiatrist,” he mumbles. Before he can think of what else to say, Max beats him to it.

“If all he wanted was to get in Will’s pants, he would have left weeks ago.”

Will’s face turns bright red. “I- you- _Max_!”

  
She ignores him, unrepentant. Beverly, however, looks like he’s just made her day. “You’re fucking him?” she whispers, thankfully lowering her voice so they won’t be overheard. Still, she looks _delighted_ by this news.

“I’m _dating_ him,” Will corrects, “and my sex life is none of your business.”

“Fair enough,” she says with a shrug. “But, as your friend, I reserve the right to ask you as much as I want about your _dating_ life, up to and including what he’s like in the sack.”

_Friend_. He supposes that they _are_ friends, actually, which is a strange thought. “I’m not telling you anything about my sex life,” he insists. “If you have any _non_ sex-related questions, those I might actually be willing to answer.”

“How long have you been together?” Jubal asks. Will glances at the electric green parrot clinging to Bev’s shoulder. He thinks, not for the first time, that the two of them should dress like a pirate for Halloween.

  
“Since Minnesota,” he says. “The second time, I mean.”

Beverly whistles. “That’s ages. I’d better be best man at your wedding.”

“There is no wedding,” Will protests, although in all honesty he’s quite sure Hannibal will be looking at rings by the end of the year. “But yes, if it makes you feel better, you can be the best man at my imaginary wedding.”

She grins. “I’m holding you to that, dude. Seriously.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Bidding his goodbyes to both Beverly and Jubal, Will heads back towards his classroom. He does have a lecture to give, after all, no matter how much Jack tries to monopolize his attention.

  
***

Dinner is an awkward affair. Not only does Will have to socialize with his boss and his boss’s wife, which is uncomfortable enough, but he’s also trying to work out why Hannibal has scheduled it so late. The man _never_ deviates from his six-thirty routine unless there’s an emergency, like being called into a crime scene, and even then he makes do. Inviting them over at eight is, at least for Hannibal, unheard of.

Will arrives a few minutes late- apparently, there’s traffic in Baltimore even this far into the evening- and already he can tell this is going to be a tense affair. Hannibal greets him warmly, but not with his usual kiss. Will is introduced to Bella Crawford (kind, a nurse) and her daemon Agenor (fruit bat, oddly subdued) and instantly knows something’s wrong with them. Based on how Jack has been acting recently, it’s probably something he already knows; it only takes Will a few seconds to recall his strange reaction to the Angel Maker case and the implications thereof. A quick nod from Hannibal is enough to confirm that Mrs Crawford has cancer.

He chooses not to mention this, instead doing his best to be friendly and social. It’s very uncomfortable for him and Max reflects that, choosing to lay in the corner with Noré instead of interacting with the other daemons. Agenor hangs from the arm of Mrs Crawford’s hair while Adrianne curls up at her feet.

“This food is delicious,” Jack compliments. Will wonders if this might be the first time Hannibal has had them over for dinner.

Bella- who insists Will call her by her first name, although he’s quite sure it’s a nickname of some sort- is quick to agree. “It reminds me of the food we used to have back in Florence.”

Hannibal is (subtly) preening at the praise. “I used to live in Florence when I was a young man. It’s one of my favorite places to visit.”

“Oh? Did you attend culinary school there? Or was this when you got into psychiatry?”

“Medical school, actually,” Hannibal corrects smoothly. “I was training to be a surgeon. I never attended culinary school, I’m afraid, although I’m glad to hear you find my food worthy of such a compliment.”

Before either Bella or Jack can answer, Will rolls his eyes fondly. “Of, come off it, Hannibal. We both know you’re not that modest.”

Hannibal looks delightfully offended. Bella seems both startled and amused by Will’s lack of manners, although Jack looks mostly resigned. “I beg your pardon, Will?” Hannibal asks, carefully concealing his mirth behind an excellently-constructed mask. Will can see right through it, but then, he’s always been able to get inside Hannibal’s head.

“You heard me,” he responds with a shrug, taking a sip of wine. Hannibal had introduced it as a 2004 Muscato Rosa imported straight from Italy. Those words mean nothing to Will, no matter how grandiose Hannibal made them sound; he thinks it’s far too sweet and fruity, but it _is_ alcohol, so he doesn’t complain. Hannibal isn’t drinking much, either, although he’s been sure to keep the Crawfords’ glasses full.

There’s a moment of rather awkward silence before Jack decides to change the subject. Or, rather, to continue with the subject they’d been on before Will’s untimely interruption. “Bella and I met in Florence, it’s a beautiful place.”

Hannibal gives him a pleasant smile, as though this is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. “Oh? What brought you to Italy?”

“I was in the army,” Jack answers. “Bella was NATO.”

“Both very honorable positions,” Hannibal compliments them.

Bella smiles. “I’m still with NATO, actually. It’s nothing as glamorous as what you’re thinking. I’m an on-site medical officer. A nurse. I’m not involved in any of the politics.”

“Nothing wrong with being a nurse. I’d trust a good nurse over half the surgeons I’ve worked with any day.”

The conversation continues. Will manages to get through a second glass of wine, Hannibal still nursing his first. Jack seems to enjoy it, though, and even Bella is on her third glass.

(Will doesn’t know much about wine. He can guess, however, that this is a dessert wine with a higher-than-usual percentage of alcohol. It’s the kind of wine which Hannibal would never choose on his own, but strangely enough seems exactly like something Jack would enjoy. Hannibal is definitely trying to get them drunk, although he’s not sure to what end.)

By the time they’ve finished with their dessert- some sort of peach-filled pastry that all but melts in his mouth- Will thinks he’s figured it out. “It’s getting late,” Bella says, glancing at her watch. “We shouldn’t impose on you any longer.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal tells her. “It’s not an imposition if I’m enjoying the company.”

Both Bella and Jack seem a little tipsy. Not drunk enough to prevent them from driving home, but at least enough so if there’s another _option_ …

“Hannibal,” Will says, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. “I think maybe I had too much to drink. Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” He even bats his eyelashes just for good measure.

Hannibal gives him a small, amused smile. “Of course. Bella, Jack, you two are both welcome to stay as well if you’d prefer. It’s rather late and it’s a long drive home.”

It doesn’t take long after that to get them to agree. Will excuses himself to go upstairs, leaving Hannibal to show the Crawfords to a guest room. He heads straight to Hannibal’s bedroom, leaning against the wall and raising an eyebrow as he waits for Hannibal to join him. It only takes a few minutes.

“So,” Will says, pushing himself off the wall as soon as Hannibal closes the door behind him. “Off to do serial killer things, I assume?” He’s not naive enough to believe Hannibal is _actually_ going to join him tonight, or at least not before he finishes whatever tableau he’s decided to make out of Lass's body.

“Please refrain from mentioning such things while Jack is in the other room,” Hannibal replies, but he sounds very amused by Will’s cavalier attitude. “But to answer your question, yes, I am off to do ‘serial killer things’. I expect to be back in about five hours.

Will smiles and gives him a kiss. “Have fun,” he tells him.

“I always do.”

“I know. It’s only mildly disturbing.”

Hannibal laughs softly. “I plan to leave Noré here, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” Will agrees, holding out his arm for the little butterfly to land on. Max is downstairs, still curled up in the corner; it’s not a secret that she and Will can separate, so he doesn’t feel the need to wake her up from her little nap to come upstairs. It _is_ , however, a secret that Hannibal and Noré are separated. If the Crawfords get suspicious, he can always arrange for them to see her, and they’ll assume Hannibal is only a few feet away. Not that he expects them to get suspicious- why would they?- but it’s always good to have a plan.

“I’ll wait a few minutes for them to get settled, then I’ll sneak out. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Some of us actually do need reasonable amounts of sleep, and something tells me I won’t get a chance to sleep in tomorrow.”

Hannibal smirks unapologetically. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I know,” Will sighs. “Just… be careful? It’s not just that I’ll get implicated if you get caught- I really do care about you, you know.”

Hannibal smiles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his curls. “I love you too, mylimasis.” He pulls away and glances at his watch; apparently it’s been long enough for him to make his escape, so he slips out into the hall without another word. Will gets a shiver of warmth about thirty seconds later, as Hannibal must have paused to pet Max on his way out the door. Then he opens up his drawer in the dresser and starts digging around for a pair of pajamas.

He can’t wait to see the body in the morning.

  
  


***

As it turns out, Hannibal’s ‘serial killer thing’ is _not_ a dead body. Instead, Will is woken up in the morning by Jack ranting and raving about a message left on his phone; apparently, Miriam Lass gave him a call during the night. Hannibal is right beside Will, bed-hair and all, and Jack hardly pays him any mind.

“We need to go straight to Quantico,” Jack insists, clutching his phone so tightly that Will’s surprised it doesn’t break. Beside him, Adrianne paces furiously, a snarl fixed on her jowls.

“I don’t believe my skill set will be of particular use here,” Hannibal demures, “and it’s Will’s day off. At least let me make you a cup of coffee before you go.”

“No time for coffee,” Jack says, thankfully not objecting to the rest of Hannibal’s statement. “Bella?”

“Agenor and I can take a cab,” she tells him. She doesn’t sound particularly upset by this necessity, although she is of course distressed by the mysterious message on her husband’s phone. Will would be, too, if he didn’t already know who had done it.

Jack leaves. Hannibal moves to the kitchen to cook breakfast; Bella Crawford corners Will as soon as they’ve left the room.

“I assume Jack doesn’t know?” she asks. Will freezes in place, unsure what she’s talking about and not wanting to say the wrong thing.

“No,” Max answers for him, coming to stand by his side. She doesn’t seem like she’s about to say anything else. It takes Will another moment to figure out what, exactly, Jack doesn’t know, but then he gives Bella a wry smile.

“We aren’t keeping it a _secret_ , exactly,” he tells her. “He’s just unobservant.” It’s blunt, but true, and it makes Bella crack a smile.

“I spent most of last night thinking you were just good friends,” she admits. “I thought it was a bit odd that he didn’t have to show you to a room, but I didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it.”

“And then?”

“And then I saw you coming out of his room this morning, wearing pajamas that fit, and with his daemon on your neck. Wasn’t difficult to figure it out from there.”

“Ah,” he says. There’s not a lot else he can say to that. He’d thought he’d been discreet leaving Hannibal’s room, but apparently not. And he’s so used to Noré’s presence, now, that he hadn’t even paused to consider the implications.

“For what it’s worth,” Bella tells him, “I think you’re sweet together. He’s clearly infatuated with you- more than, if you can touch daemons so easily. And I won’t bring it up to Jack, either, because the way I see it that’s your secret to tell.”

“Thank you,” Will says, feeling oddly touched.

There is the honk of a car horn from outside. “That’ll be my taxi,” Bella announces. “I’ll leave you two to your breakfast.”

  
  


***

“They aren’t charging Gideon for the Ripper kills,” Beverly announces a few days later as she walks into the lecture hall. It’s between classes, so there are no students to overhear them. Jubal is perched on her shoulder as usual, although he doesn’t look particularly inclined to contribute to this conversation.

“I don’t suppose they’re charging Chilton, either,” Will sighs. Chilton isn’t the Ripper, of course, but the damage that he did to Gideon’s psyche is _horrifying_ and he should have his medical license taken away.

“Of course not. No way to prove it. They _are_ having Gideon transferred to a different facility, somewhere in North Carolina.”

“Out of Chilton’s reach, I suppose,” Will muses absently. “That’s good.”

“Maybe with enough therapy, his daemon will remember how to settle.”

Will nods his agreement. “Maybe. She’s sweet, she shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” There is a conspicuously long pause, and then he adds, “considering who her human is, of course. It’s not Salome’s fault he snapped.”

(Salome is Gideon’s soul. They share equal responsibility for his murders. Still, she _had_ been kind when Will visited, and he can’t be afraid of Gideon when he’s so busy pitying him.)

Beverly looks doubtful, but she doesn’t argue. “We got forensics back on the hair and fish skin found at Jack’s house. Hair was from Miriam Lass, which isn’t too surprising.”

There is another pause, this time for dramatic purposes.

“The _skin_ ,” Beverly continues, “was from a very specific type of freshwater eel. The same type, in fact, as Miriam’s daemon.”

Will frowns at her. “Why is that surprising? It’d be weirder if the skin was from a _different_ type of fish.”

“Because,” she tells him, “it was fresh. There were no preservatives on it, but from what we can tell, it couldn’t have been cut off more than ten hours before we found it.”

Will’s eyes widen as he understands the implications of that. “So either the Ripper went out and found another eel just to fuck with us…"

“Or Miriam Lass has been alive this entire time.”

Will takes a deep breath. He is going to be having _words_ with Hannibal. “Thank you, Bev,” he says, forcing himself to remain calm. She gives him a smile and heads out the way she came, apparently sensing that he needs to be alone. At his feet, Max’s eyes have narrowed, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m going to kill him,” Will mutters. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t think he could kill Hannibal if he tried.

“He would let us,” Max answers in just as low of a voice. The worst part is, he thinks she’s right.

“I know,” he replies.

(There will be no murders today. There will be no murders _any_ day, not between the two of them. Still, it’s the thought that counts.)

“I’m going to _yell_ at him,” Will amends his previous statement, “and I’m going to make him let Miriam Lass go.”

“Make him make that lasagna we like,” Max suggests.

Will nods. “And I’ll make him make that lasagna we like.”

Mind made up, Will turns back to grading his papers. Yes, they will definitely be having words.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  1 Gideon's daemon, Salome, is a female eastern coyote, pictured [here](https://images.app.goo.gl/toHgSZSG2sosuHTN9). Ordinarily she'd be bigger and more wolf-shaped than that picture, but I can't imagine she and Gideon are particularly well-cared-for in the BSHCI.
> 
>   
> 2 Beverly's daemon is a male Eclectus Parrot, seen [here](https://images.app.goo.gl/54wbcMGveVPGUUfm8). I wanted to name him Simba because I thought it would be funny I her parents had named her daemon after The Lion King. Unfortunately that didn't work out as far as timelines go, so his name is Jubal instead. (It sounds like a combination of jubilee and jewel, which imo fits pretty well.)
> 
> I ended up not being able to fit Chilton and his daemon in this fic, but I want you to know that I did come up with a suitable daemon for him. Look at [this](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Calotes_mystaceus_manipur.JPG#/media/File:Calotes_mystaceus_manipur.JPG) beauty. She's an Indo-Chinese Forest Lizard, and no I haven't decided on a name. Lizards I general have a habit of playing dead and can lose/grow back entire tails, which I think fits with Chilton's whole 'not dying when he really should be dead' thing.


End file.
